


Taking Turns

by Abisian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 18:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abisian/pseuds/Abisian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is being baby-sat while in the hospital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Turns

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during HLV after Sherlock collapses at Baker Street. This is a short one, just a drabble. Spoilers ahead. Enjoy.

Sherlock eased his eyes open, blinded by the glare of the sun through the slats in his window blinds. His body felt heavy with injury and morphine, and it was a chore to turn his neck to look at the figure beside him.

"John?" he croaked, blinking the fog from his eyes. 

"No, it's Molly," came the thin voice of his favorite pathologist. She leaned toward him, sitting forward in her chair, arms wrapped around that cumbersome bag she liked to carry around. "What do you need?"

"Where is everyone?" he said instead, his thumb searching for the button that makes his bed sit up. He winced noticeably as the bed lifted him to a sitting position, and he gingerly touched the edges of his bandage with his fingertips. "John and Mary?"

"They've gone out for lunch. We're all sort of taking turns watching you." She frowned at him, fiddling nervously with the strap of her bag. "We wanted to make sure you don't disappear in the night again. That was dangerous, you know. So dangerous. We were worried."

Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. "I had it under control. I know what I can handle." He fought to get the words out; he could feel himself slipping back into unconsciousness. Clearly his body still needed rest.

"How? From the drugs?" He noticed she sounded almost angry, and his mind flashed back to her lab, to her hand hitting his cheek once, twice, three times. And then he remembered his mind palace, where she slapped him twice more.

"I survived it once, I thought I could probably survive it again," he admitted. What he didn't say aloud spoke volumes, at least to him. How could he ever admit that aloud? That in what could very well have been his final moments, he thought of her? It was her help and expertise as he remembered her that helped him survive. The realization that he would bleed out if he didn't fall on his back; the realization that he would die of shock if he didn't focus. He didn't know what it meant that he didn't think of John, his best friend and former army doctor, to consult him on proper bullet would protocol, but he tried not to dwell on it. 

"You saved me twice already, Molly Hooper. I thought if the need arose I could call on you once more." 

"Twice?" she asked, bewildered, as Sherlock drifted back into his morphine-induced sleep. Shaking her head, Molly leaned back in her chair to watch him, confused. Clearly the pain meds were taking their toll.


End file.
